Chapter - 2
1447 Words
Even though her grandmother had specifically told her to take the bus or train home, Nyx still chose to walk.
She didn’t dare spend money on transportation.
Not when there was a chance it had been a trap.
Her family had done things like that before—telling her one thing only to later scream at her for obeying. Sometimes, they simply wanted an excuse to vent their frustration on her. A wasted coin could easily become the reason for another slap, another beating, another lecture about how “useless” and “ungrateful” she was.
So instead, Nyx walked.
The chilly evening air brushed against her skin as she made her way through the crowded streets, her worn bag hanging heavily from her shoulder. Streetlights flickered above her while cars splashed rainwater onto the sidewalks.
Usually, the walk home gave her time to clear her mind.
But today, that strange feeling refused to leave her alone.
The deeper she walked into the quieter parts of the city, the tighter the knot in her stomach became.
It felt like something was waiting for her.
Something bad.
Something unavoidable.
By the time Nyx finally reached the old apartment building, an hour had passed, and her legs ached from exhaustion.
She climbed the narrow staircase slowly before stopping in front of the peeling brown door.
After taking a deep breath, she rang the bell.
A few seconds later, the door swung open.
“Nyx, you’re back! Come in.”
Nyx froze slightly.
Her mother stood there with a huge smile on her face.
A smile.
Directed at her.
The dreadful feeling she had spent the entire walk suppressing instantly returned stronger than before.
Her mother never smiled at her like that.
Not unless she wanted something.
Yes… Something is definitely wrong.
Nyx quietly stepped inside the apartment.
The familiar smell of cheap perfume, old furniture, and cooked food filled the air. The television blared loudly from the living room while dim yellow lights illuminated the cramped space.
“What took you so long?” her grandmother snapped from her rocking chair near the window. “Didn’t I tell you to come home as soon as possible?”
Nyx instinctively lowered her gaze.
“I… wasn’t able to catch any bus,” she explained softly. “So I walked back home.”
Her grandmother clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Before the older woman could continue, Rosa quickly interrupted.
“Oh, come on, Mother,” she said lightly. “Why are you scolding her the moment she walks through the door?”
Nyx nearly stopped breathing.
Was her mother defending her?
The situation had officially crossed from strange into terrifying.
Rosa gently removed the worn bag from Nyx’s shoulder.
“Karen,” she called sweetly, “put your sister’s bag in her room.”
Karen, who had been scrolling through her phone lazily on the couch, immediately frowned.
“Why do I have to do it?” Karen protested.
One sharp glare from Rosa silenced her.
Karen rolled her eyes dramatically before snatching the bag and stomping toward the basement stairs.
Nyx stared blankly at the scene.
This had to be a dream.
Or maybe she had died somewhere on the walk home and accidentally entered another universe.
“You must be tired and hungry, Nyx,” Rosa continued warmly. “I made your favorite today. White sauce pasta.”
Nyx almost cringed.
Favorite?
Since when did her mother know her favorite food?
She forced herself not to react outwardly, though disgust and unease churned violently inside her stomach.
If she had any doubts earlier, they were completely gone now.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Her mother—who normally treated her colder than a stranger—was suddenly acting affectionate and caring.
It felt unnatural.
Like watching a wolf smile lovingly at a rabbit.
Nyx quietly nodded and escaped toward her room before anyone could continue this bizarre act.
Or what used to be called her room.
The basement space was barely larger than a storage closet. A faded sofa that doubled as a bed sat against the wall beside a tiny table with a flickering lamp. A rusted wardrobe occupied one corner while damp stains spread across the ceiling.
Still, it was the only place in the apartment that belonged to her.
At least partially.
Nyx grabbed a fresh set of clothes before heading toward the shared washroom. She took a quick shower, letting the cold water run over her tired body as she tried calming her racing thoughts.
But no matter how hard she tried, the uneasiness remained.
When she finally walked into the dining room a few minutes later, she stopped in surprise.
Everyone was already seated.
And for the first time in her life—
There was a chair waiting for her at the dining table.
Nyx blinked slowly.
Usually, she ate separately after everyone else finished. Sometimes she stood in the kitchen, eating leftovers directly from the pot. Other times, there simply wasn’t enough food left for her.
But tonight—
“Come sit here,” Rosa said gently, pulling out the chair beside her.
No one objected.
Not her grandmother.
Not Karen.
Not even her younger brother, who usually complained whenever Nyx touched anything near him.
Silence filled the table as Nyx slowly sat down.
Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears.
Rosa immediately began serving food onto her plate generously.
Too generously.
Creamy pasta. Garlic bread. Even pieces of grilled chicken.
Food that they normally reserved for special occasions.
Nyx stared at the plate as though it might suddenly come alive and bite her.
“Eat, sweetheart,” Rosa encouraged softly.
Sweetheart.
The fork nearly slipped from Nyx’s hand.
Something terrible was coming.
She didn’t know what it was yet—
But she could feel it approaching with every forced smile around the table.
Still, Nyx forced herself to take a slow, deep breath.
No matter what it is… she’ll deal with it when the time comes.
For now…
Let’s just enjoy the food.
Who knows when she’ll get to eat something like this again?
With that thought, she picked up her fork and slowly began eating.
The creamy pasta melted in her mouth, warm and rich with flavors she rarely got to taste. Under normal circumstances, she would have savored every bite happily.
But tonight, every mouthful felt heavy.
Even while eating, Nyx remained tense.
Her shoulders stayed stiff, her body prepared for impact at any moment.
Every few seconds, her eyes drifted toward her family members cautiously, almost expecting one of them to suddenly slam their hands against the table, laugh in her face, and reveal whatever cruel joke or trap they had prepared for her.
But to her utter surprise—
Nothing happened.
Everyone quietly focused on eating dinner as though tonight was perfectly normal.
The only unusual thing was the occasional glances they threw her way.
Her grandmother.
Her mother.
Even Karen.
From time to time, Nyx caught them staring at her strangely before quickly looking away once noticed.
Each glance made her heartbeat stutter painfully.
At one point, she nearly choked on her food when her father looked directly at her for several long seconds before silently returning his attention to his plate.
The silence around the table felt suffocating.
Nyx wanted nothing more than to throw her fork down and demand answers.
What are you planning?
What do you want from me this time?
Just say it already!
But years of experience stopped her.
Questioning them never ended well.
The last time she had dared to ask why they were suddenly being “nice” to her, Karen had poured hot tea on her arm while her grandmother accused her of being ungrateful and disrespectful.
So Nyx wisely kept her mouth shut.
She ate quietly.
Waited quietly.
Endured quietly.
Finally, after what felt like hours, dinner came to an end.
Nyx secretly released a breath of relief.
It’s over.
But the relief barely lasted two seconds.
Across the table, her family exchanged subtle glances with one another.
The air immediately changed.
The tension returned so suddenly that Nyx’s stomach twisted painfully.
Then Rosa slowly placed her fork down.
“Nyx,” she began softly, her expression turning serious, “there’s something we want to tell you.”
Finally.
Nyx lowered her gaze slightly to hide the flicker in her eyes.
Of course.
This was the real reason.
“What is it?” she asked calmly, almost indifferently, as though the matter had nothing to do with her at all.
But beneath the table, hidden from everyone’s view—
Her trembling hands clenched tightly against her knees.
- Writer
